Blowing Off Steam About Love and Respect

I need to blow off some steam. Some stuff has been bugging me for a while.  And in some ways, even writing this is making me guilty of what I am so deeply saddened and frustrated by.  For that, I ask God to search my heart for my core beliefs and motives,  that can be so hard to describe in words.  I hope I make sense with this and come from a place that pleases Him.

I’m a fairly conservative Christian,  though I don’t consider myself to be an ‘extremist’ – I don’t believe extremism is beneficial for anything. (Matthew 6:1…”Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in Heaven.”… ‘Appearances’, and not compassion, scream hypocrisy, and push people away from us- and the chance to share Jesus….Matthew 5:22 talks about anger, and the emotions that destroy relationships and spirituality – we’re to be in control of our actions, but our thoughts can also degrade our relationships spiritually… Life Application Bible notes).

It’s one thing to have a firm belief in God and His Word, and quite another to use it as a weapon against those who are either struggling, or have different beliefs- or are not Believers at all.   Nothing about God is  a weapon for destruction.  We’re instructed that our relationship with God is to be used for GOOD, not divisiveness.  Divisiveness is a tool of Satan.  James 3:5 “Likewise, consider the tongue as a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue is also a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body.  It corrupts the whole person, sets the whole course of his life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell.”  And it can be incredibly difficult to figure out how to love the sinner and hate the sin, and do it from a place of love and compassion for the person, without being judgmental.

Every week there is something else in the media (not from God) that turns on the “judgement switch” of a lot of Christians… and that’s not our job as Christians. I see it in people I know,  people I don’t know in articles and interviews, and I see it in myself at times, and must stop and ask God to help me deal with the situation in a way that pleases Him. I’m not always very good at that.  Every time ‘WE’ judge ‘the other side’, we do *exactly* what we accuse ‘them’ of doing.  I’m so tired of it!  I strongly believe in having a solid core belief system, and mine happens to be that of a conservative Christian. My goal from my heart is that  I become stronger with the  characteristics of a Biblical Christian (not humanly manufactured judgement spewers).   Living the Fruit of the Spirit is my daily goal (and I fail regularly)  😦  … Galatians 5:22… “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”  When I disagree with someone, or feel I’m not being heard or treated fairly, those are the responses I am to have.  And it ain’t easy!

I have enough of my own character defects to work on to have ANY right to call out someone else.  Even if something is in the Bible as sin (and we are ALL sinners), I can only live and grow my own relationship with Jesus.  Even Jesus didn’t come to point fingers and judge- He came to save us; judgement will come at its due time, only known by God.   If Christians are so busy worrying about the actions/thoughts/beliefs of someone else, who is left to love them to the Lord?  Matthew 7 is a great chapter on judgement and forgiveness.

We have all sinned (Romans 3:23).  There is no hierarchy of sin.    I believe we  ALL need Jesus- every single day for our OWN spiritual lives. I understand that not everybody believes that- and God gave us free will to believe or not, so who am I to demand more than God? He wants genuine believers- not robotic, loveless stalkers!   We are commanded to go into the world and spread the word of God… How can we do that if we’re so busy condemning others?  Romans 12:18… “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”   Salvation, and a relationship with God is a choice- we can’t earn it, we can’t lose it… but we must sincerely desire and choose it.  And I can only choose for myself.

Does that mean we condone everything? Of course not !  But we aren’t responsible for the actions and beliefs of others- and if we’re so busy being pious and judgmental, who is left to share the Gospel?  We are known by our actions first.  And there are many Christians who send non-believers running for the hills from the hypocrisy and absolute intolerance of various groups of people, or those who even believe differently. Some send ME running for the ‘hills’, and we’re supposed to believe the same thing !
There is not one person on this planet who can truly know what is in the heart of someone else- their struggles, pain, frustrations, BELIEFS, etc.  Christians are generally taught to appear like everything is wonderful- which is VERY hard to do 24/7.  And it’s disingenuous.  God gave us emotions.  But we do have to be careful about not directing them AT others, and instead using them to encourage and uplift others.   ‘Loathing’ is not from God.  Constant mockery, negative comments, and complaining are in direct contrast to what we are told to do in Philippians 2: 14-16… “Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God , without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the Word of Life- in order that I may boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor for nothing.”  That’s hard !  But it lets me know that getting involved in negative ‘conversations’ isn’t anything I’m doing to praise God.  It’s purely self-serving when it’s not done out of love, and to offer something positive and encouraging.
I believe that there are a lot of Christians who truly love the Lord, and are still struggling with various issues.  When I worked drug and alcohol rehab, we saw a LOT of Christians… and had a special sub-group of recovery options for them in addition to the traditional  12-step treatment (which is completely spiritually based, and strongly reflective of the Sermon on The Mount).  Christians are not immune from continuing to (or starting another)  sin; for some it’s easier than other to ‘reform’ and/or recover. Some have condemned themselves much more than anybody else could- and are afraid God couldn’t possibly want anything to do with them. (So let’s throw some disdain their way, eh?) And some have lived their entire lives believing that they are guilty of something that was done TO them.
I’m so glad that the  God I know is more loving and forgiving than many of my fellow Christians- known personally or not. And HE knows MY heart!  He has access to the secret corners of my being, and loves me anyway!     Other humans only know what they assume- and that is dangerous ground for basing a relationship (or opinion) with anybody.   John 8: 2-11 is an outstanding example of how Jesus dealt with a woman accused of sexual sins.  He came from a place of love.
I spent many years with severe eating disorders –  clear abuse of the body God gave me, and where the Bible says the Holy Spirit dwells in Christians.  I was living in a state of daily sin by focusing on the flesh– and yet I still loved God deeply, and dealt with the shame of not living fully for Him when I was focused on something so destructive, and felt so stuck.  It’s painful to see Christians assume that because someone is ‘pro’ this or that, or in some sort of addiction (food, drugs, alcohol, etc.)  that they aren’t Believers.  “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone”… remember that one?   I’ve met a lot of Christian addicts (recovering, and  just going through detox)… some of the most solid Christians I’ve ever met.   Being a Christian never removes the fact that we’re still human.  We fail. We get up. We move on. And sometimes (a lot of times) we fail again, with the assurance of a loving God catching us in His arms.
Some (a lot of ? ) folks do appear to be clearly anti-Christian.  There’s someone on the news, other TV shows, radio, Facebook, Twitter, etc.  pretty much daily that come  only to verbally mock and shun Christians.  (one program last night had me fairly heated !). God has that covered !  We’ve been told about those who persecute Christians- it’s been going on for a couple of thousands of years now !   And it’s not our fight.  God will take care of those who harass His Children in due time.  I find comfort in that- I don’t have to waste time being angry or even hateful !  I can try and find things to be thankful for.  We’re instructed to be thankful in ALL things.  We’re instructed to have a very specific mindset about our ‘enemies’. ****  It is so much more freeing to not be worn down by things that I have no control over, that will be dealt with by God in HIS timing, and to look at the wonderful things I’ve been blessed with- however great or small… they are more uplifting than the negative people and situations :
****1 Peter 3:9…” Do not repay evil with evil, or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.”  
Matthew 5:44… “But I command you all, love your enemies and pray for your persecutors.”
Romans 12:14… “Invoke blessings on your persecutors, blessings- not curses.”
1 Peter 3:15…”But in your hearts, set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander.  It is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for evil.”    Hmm… ‘in your hearts’ (don’t need a billboard).  Gentleness and respect…. (wow- don’t see much of that).  Is it good or evil to single out assorted ‘hot topics’ and make them a thermometer of morality and gauge of someone else’s heart?  Or would it be more in keeping with Jesus, being the definition of love, to reach out and show compassion?  I don’t have to agree with anybody to  be kind to them.
I can anticipate some who read this getting upset that I’m not focusing on pointing out  specific ‘hot topic’  sins of others  that they feel are clearly stated in the Bible.  I’m really not interested in pointing out someone else’s sin nearly as much as I am showing them the love that Jesus came to show us; the Holy Spirit  will convict someone of sin- I’m not that powerful, so why not show love and compassion?  I’m not always good at it- but that is my goal.   When anything comes across as hate, it will drive someone away who God loves, and wants a relationship with.  That’s not being obedient.  I don’t have to change my beliefs to show someone else what I believe- and I don’t have to do it with condescension or spite.  Neither of those are from God.  I don’t have to jump on every bandwagon that comes along to ‘prove a point’.  I know what I believe… I don’t have to repeatedly and frequently drive the point into the skulls of anyone I encounter.  My friends know what I believe, and IF someone asks me, I will aim for the gentle and respectful explanation.  🙂
Sometimes, there are people who will only know one or two ‘known’ Christians… do you want to show someone the love of God, or tear them down by talking about specific sins?  We are all sinners, and Jesus came for all of us.  There are no prerequisites for loving Jesus.  He takes us as we are.  All of us.  As. We. Are.  The miracles of being new creations happens after someone discovers Jesus, and the ultimate meaning of love.
So, what is my hope that I show people?  It’s very clear…  🙂  And it’s an ongoing process.  So, I’m really not at liberty to judge someone else.  I’ve got my own work to do.
I Corinthians 13:4-8a….”Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas, and New Year filled with peace, compassion, and joy of knowing that God supplies all of our needs.

 

 

 

Limitations Don’t Define Who I Am

My disabilities don’t make me who I am.  I don’t want someone else’s life, because that wouldn’t be me either.  I wish many things weren’t the way they are, but I don’t want to be someone else.  I’m getting very close to being 50 years old, and I’m OK being plain old disjointed, imperfect me.  I can’t be anybody else.  Trying to be someone else wastes the time I have.

I’m not able to do many of the things that I used to think defined me. I’m not able to work as an RN, and I miss that more than I can describe.  I miss taking care of other people in the way that gave me so much satisfaction.  I treated them as I’d want to be treated.  I learned how to empathize with their pain, and in turn be a better human being.  I miss those moments with someone who was going through something life-changing, and being able to offer some level of comfort.  But being a nurse doesn’t really define me. I used to think it did.  It’s a huge part of me, but it’s not all of me.

I’m diabetic, epileptic (temporal lobe nocturnal seizures), a cancer survivor (acute promyelocytic leukemia), I’ve got fibromyalgia, lung scars from multiple pulmonary emboli, bone spurs in my neck, chronic headaches, severe muscle spasms with any lifting or repetitive motion (groceries, trash, laundry), and dysautonomia, which causes severe heat intolerance, blood pressure and pulse changes, and very limited activity tolerance.  And none of that defines me.  It’s stuff that I have to deal with on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis…but it’s not who I am.

I had eating disorders for years (decades), but anorexia and bulimia don’t define who I am. I thought they did, and when I was in early recovery, I didn’t know who I would be if I wasn’t ‘the one who won’t eat’.  But all eating disorders did was mask who I really am.  They took away my ability to live normally and interact with people in a way that really put me into any sort of relationship. My main relationship was with the eating disorders. Nothing happened in my life unless I thought about how it would affect my ability to avoid calories.  That was my primary motivation in everything; any sort of real friendship was put way down on my list of priorities- though I didn’t see that at the time. It was a very selfish time in my life that I’m not proud of.  Eating disorders only steal time- they do nothing else.

Being a rape survivor doesn’t define who I am. It has had a huge impact on my life to have survived six hours of continuous sexual torture.  It changed how I interacted with people, and my ability to allow anybody to get very close.  But it’s still a relatively small part of my life… six hours changed a lot, but they didn’t change who I am at my core.

So, who (and what) am I?  I’m an average human being who wants to be accepted and have people in my life who accept me, warts and all.  I loved (and miss) all of my dogs, and am looking forward to getting a new puppy (and am waiting for her to be conceived at this time; I know where she’s coming from).  I care about people, and my heart goes out to those I see on the news, and hear about on FaceBook.  I miss my ‘old’ life before disability, but am learning to accept what my reality has become.  Most of all, I love God.  Without Him, I wouldn’t be here.  The consistency I feel when I read through the Bible (especially Psalms and Proverbs when I’m feeling badly) is what I can depend on much more than I can with human beings, who are fallible just as I am.  Every day is a chance to just ‘be’. I’ve had times when I thought that I would die, so life is precious.  I realize that in spite of things that have happened, I’m very fortunate in so many ways.  Some days, I don’t remember that as much as other days.  But I do understand that I’m here for a reason, and I’m thankful for that.

 

 

Suicide Attempt: Those Who Knew Never Asked…

…why I attempted suicide in September 1982.  I later found out that it was a big secret from  family (or close friends) who seemed like they’d be obvious to inform (as in why I’d suddenly dropped off the face of the earth and was no longer at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign campus).  And, for the most part, it seemed  like nobody really gave a rats tail.  I did have an uncle who had visited me at the psych hospital the semester before, God bless him.  He wasn’t afraid to see whether or not I was drooling in a corner somewhere (I wasn’t – in fact, back in those days, I was downright intact compared to many there, and it was a private facility in the days where  you either went to a state hospital – like ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’- or to a private facility that was essentially a hotel with nurses and a lot of pills; there were no ‘treatment centers’).  There was the friend of another uncle who befriended me (strange situation).  But that was the extent of asking me WHY I was there.  My parents were the most silent.  Nobody ever asked me why I’d tried to end my own life.

That seems a bit odd. Maybe it was some sort of bizarre form of ‘manners’ to not ask.  But if there’s ever a scream from a mountain top that someone needs to say something about SOMETHING, it’s a premature, unnatural attempt to die. During that time, my mom was going through radiation, post-mastectomy, and I’d been dropped off at school a week early to accommodate her radiation schedule (I was fine with being at school early- though the dorms were kind of spooky without everybody there- there were about 10 of us in a 12-story dorm).  I don’t remember dealing with my mom’s cancer at all. I’d been in such a rush to ‘look normal’ after having to leave school the semester earlier… I know I’d never have wanted to ’cause trouble’.

Looking back, I’m not sure I know all of the reasons for the overdose, and only remember the first part of it when I mechanically took sleeping pills one after another with the only conscious thought being how much I just wanted some rest.  I don’t remember any actual ‘death wish’. I  ‘just’ wanted relief from so much pressure of being back on that campus after being ‘removed’ the semester before because of deteriorating anorexia, bulimia, and depression with a suicide ‘plan’ (that was pretty dang lethal).  I was trying SO hard to ‘look OK’, and that pressure was unbelievable. SO when I started taking those sleeping pills, one after another, I was only wanting relief from the pressure. I had intended to wake up, from what I remember. When I woke up after nearly 3 days in a coma, I was confused.  I also didn’t believe that they’d found the remnants of fifty antidepressant tablets when they pumped my stomach.  I don’t remember that at all. I eventually sent for the hospital and university health center records.  I needed gaps filled in.

I also wrote to my roommate years later, who told me that I’d been out at a local bar (underage), and came back to the room drunk before dinner. She hadn’t seen me actually take the sleeping pills (I do remember her being in the room, but I was sitting at my desk, my back to her; being drunk explains the impulsivity and lack of planning for consequences of my actions- and why the drugs ‘took’ so intensely). But she said I went to sleep and didn’t get up the next morning. She said I’d mumbled something about not going to class because I was so tired. When she got back late that afternoon, I was still out of it, and she couldn’t wake me up. At all.  She got one of my floor-mates from the last semester who knew me better, and she looked at me and called the ambulance (about 24 hours after taking the pills…it’s amazing that I survived that long). I was taken to the university health clinic, who sent me on to a regular medical hospital/trauma center with a blood pressure that was nearly meeting in the middle. (Not good).

In looking at the records, my ‘coma scale’ couldn’t go any lower. I responded to nothing. Zip.  And, understandably- but frighteningly, I remember none of that. I don’t know when I took the bottle of antidepressants.  I don’t remember having my stomach pumped (and used to get so uneasy later in my nursing career when OD patients were often ‘threatened’ with having their stomachs pumped as some sort of punishment; they were seen as deliberately causing unpleasant work for the ER staff who had ‘real’ patients to take care of- those who hadn’t put themselves in that position- never mind that the person was in so much emotional pain that they felt they had no other options).  I never told anybody that I planned to overdose. I don’t think I knew I would OD.   I’d been trying to fit in and be social (not something that came easily outside of my home church group setting). I wanted to be in school.

I do remember asking the nurse in ICU what I had been wearing when I was brought in, as that would tell me what day it had been. I’d been brought in on a Wednesday.  I had been wearing a red gingham shirt and overalls- I did remember putting those on on Tuesday- brought to the ER on Wednesday.  I probably looked like a dead farmer.  I was very close to not making it.  I sent for my medical records years later, and my vital signs were very bad- as in not much difference between the top and bottom numbers of my blood pressure, a heart arrhythmia, and very slow respirations.  I was given some resuscitative drugs to maintain my heart rhythm, and fluids to maintain my blood pressure, and over a few days, I woke up.  Freaked. Out.

My first recollection is of someone moving an oxygen mask to ask me a question, so they could see me talking.  Then fade to black again.  Then, I clearly remember a nurse going towards my crotch with a syringe (no explanation that she was removing the catheter). I’d never been in a real medical hospital before. From there on, it was a bunch of blips of memory, finally getting back to a ‘slow’ normal. I remember being very confused by the Saturday cartoons.  I’d been propped up in a chair with the cartoons on (at age 18?), and it was hard to follow them. Bugs Bunny was too ‘deep’. For a while, there was concern about permanent brain damage, and the psychiatrist I went back to was surprised I wasn’t impaired.  I also remember the charcoal diarrhea… I didn’t know the ‘rules’ in ICU about not disconnecting the EKG leads without help before getting out of bed ( I didn’t want to bother anybody), so it would look like I’d flatlined when I was just in a hurry to get to the bathroom.  They didn’t like that very much. I felt the bruising on my breastbone where I’d been ‘knuckle-rubbed’ to wake me up, and the scratchy feeling in my throat where tubes had been.  And it all confused me.

While I don’t remember a lot about the overall overdose, I do know I didn’t want to leave school! I wanted to do well !  I wanted to show my friends that I was OK ! (And with that, I had some desert property in the Everglades for anybody who was on board with that idea). I didn’t want to be a failure.  I have to admit, that at 18 years old, in an ICU room in Urbana, IL, I had a serious meltdown when I was told I’d be sent back to the nut farm I’d spent February through mid-April earlier that same year.  My parents had been called (that was like ramming a dagger into my heart- how could they call them? I especially didn’t want to disappoint them… but  how could they NOT call them?  I was a huge liability at that point). Everything was falling apart.  I was hysterically crying when I saw my mom and dad show up later that day (?Sunday- no cartoons, and mom had to be at radiation on Monday) after clearing out my dorm room and selling my books back to the bookstore– for some reason, losing those books was almost like the ultimate ‘proof’ that nobody believed in me… I’d been ‘removed’ from school. Again.  For weeks, I cried about that.

My therapist from the previous and current semester had been called in (she was recovering from a blood clot in her leg, and having a semi-miserable first months of pregnancy).  She explained that there were no other choices.  I couldn’t remember the overdose- that was almost worse than planning it out.  They couldn’t ensure my safety. Forest Hospital in Des Plaines, IL had already been notified, and since I was as medically stable as I was going to get, I was being discharged from the ICU to be driven back up to the suburbs of Chicago.  I was devastated.  I was horribly ashamed.  I’d failed. Again.  I didn’t see the ‘illness’ part of what was going on. I just saw failure.

It was almost a bit of a relief to be around people who knew me, who didn’t think I was a lost cause (though the next several months- September 1982 through early January 1983 weren’t exactly smooth at the hospital… I was a train wreck, and things got worse before they got better, in the days of endless insurance days inpatient; ‘losing’ school was absolutely devastating, and stirred up a lot).  I spent a total of 7 months in the hospital over 2 admissions.  I was tested (I’m reasonably intelligent, so they said- LOL) from one end to another, and I tested them. I’d always been pathologically well-behaved (confirmed years later by my folks), and at the nut farm, I blew through some rules.  I also tried to escape (going where?) and hurdled the gardner and his wheelbarrow only to collapse on the sidewalk about 1/2 a block from the hospital, in full view of a busy road…. nice to have that on my resumé. *rolling eyes*  At any rate, I was in a place to work on whatever was the immediate problem, which was making sure I didn’t blindly go on some life-ending rampage.  I was never a ‘danger to others’… it was always ‘danger to self’.  I’d give the shirt off my back to ‘others’.   Whatever had happened in that dorm room in Urbana couldn’t happen again.

In some ways I don’t know if I’ll ever know what was going through my ethanol laced brain that Tuesday afternoon when I started eating sleeping pills.  Maybe the booze was a huge part of that horrendous time.  It does explain a lot- but there had to be enough going on to ‘set up’ what happened.  What I did.  The memory loss has always been really hard to deal with. There are days that are just ‘gone’.  No matter how hard I try to figure it out, it’s just not there.  But I always wondered why nobody asked me if I’d really wanted to die.  The answer is no.

The Emotionally Damaged Parent

Watching TV news, and working as an RN for years in the mental health and recovery fields, it’s so apparent why familial abuse is cyclical.  Nobody knows any better. Nobody ‘grew up’ in a normal manner and completed developmental stages. They all end up stuck, confused, and in pain.  They then traumatize any offspring they have-  sometimes very unintentionally, but leaving behind another generation of damaged adults and more confused kids.  While they do the best they can, they cause mass devastation. Others just become cruel.  I’ve seen some horrendous families.

These parents can’t see things through their child’s eyes since they never completed developmental stages themselves.  When a child enters the ‘terrible twos’, a very necessary developmental stage, the stuck parent can’t cope because they’re still functioning on an emotionally childish level themselves. So the actual toddler gets the brunt of it, and never learns how to get its own needs met, since the parent needs the kid to meet unmet needs of their own.  The child becomes the nurturer, in an incredibly dysfunctional manner.  The parent can’t identify their child’s needs since their own needs weren’t met.  And they don’t know any better.  Or that there’s even a problem  (they have no other frame of reference). And they certainly can’t fix it on their own.

The wounds continue as the children learn to live without a functional parent.  Life becomes a matter of surviving and just getting through it.  Any sources of perceived love and care (no matter how horrendous or dysfunctional) become like beacons for these kids as they grow up.  And the cycle continues, since the child ends up being used by those with an agenda, who seek them out.  The lucky ones actually have functional adults step in and help them learn what is and isn’t healthy.  Others become statistics, or abusers.  And ‘parents’.

The more dysfunction and desperation I see on the news, the more I wonder how and when people became so damaged.  I don’t think the majority of people strategically set out to screw up their kids, but they manage to do a good job of it none the less.  And I wonder who hurt them.  And so on.  I can trace some deficits (perceived or real) that  go back to the flu epidemic in 1917 or 1918.  Orphans are abandoned souls, no matter how loving their assigned parents are. They then are clueless about bonding and attachment, since being vulnerable has only meant pain and loss in their child’s view of life.  Their kids then have to learn to function with the only tools THEY have, and so on.  Nobody meant to cause pain. Nobody meant to leave  a legacy of abandonment and dysfunction…but it’s still there and very real for those who were left with the aftermath.

It’s easier for me to forgive pain caused by developmental neglect and  loss than abusive behavior with no cause, or outright cruelty.

Tis The Season…..

….to have all sorts of things churned up.  I don’t really get ”depressed’ over the holiday season, but more a vague sense of being overwhelmed since there are a lot of ‘anniversaries’ around this time.  This year added a new one with the death of my amazing, crazy companion- my miniature schnauzer Mandy, who died on December 27, 2012.

I’m still crying pretty much every day when I think about her, and especially about that last day.  I’m very thankful that that ‘end’ part was pretty fast.  And she was in my arms.  At first, she whimpered enough to alarm me, and from that point until she was actually gone, no more than 15 minutes went by.  After she  peed, and then froze in her tracks, she seemed confused, and not sure what to do, so I just held her and told her how wonderful she’d been.  Her breathing slowly stopped as I held her on my lap.  The ‘new normal’ of not hearing her come running when I mess with the dishwasher or clothes dryer (she had a thing for appliances), of her not leaving the room when I sneeze (or even said the word ‘sneeze’), or escorting me to the door when I got my keys to get the mail.  I didn’t have to say anything; she just knew.  I miss her more than words really can describe.  She was my only companion here in this city, for the past 10 years.  I talk to my dad every day; I saw my dog 24/7- especially since being on disability since April 2004.

Then there is the whole issue of being disabled.  It is somewhat worse in the winter months since everybody has the heat on. I don’t tolerate heat- to the point I shaved my head again (well, I had a professional do it; I wanted to avoid slicing my ears off).  With my ‘normal’ hair (mine is really, really thick), I can’t tolerate the heat it retains. Think dead animal on my scalp.  I also have to see a surgeon this next week about some (more) cysts on my scalp that are painful.  They need to go, so the poor doc has to be able to see my head.  The other issues with disability include being in more pain when it’s cold outside, and my joints just not liking getting in and out of the car.  Sounds wimpy.  Maybe it is.  All I know is that I have to manage it the best I can- so whatever I can get delivered to my door (Schwann’s frozen foods, Walmart for laundry and paper goods, Amazon for miscellaneous stuff, etc), I do.   It’s still very painful just grocery shopping for the dairy/fresh items, but it definitely helps to get stuff delivered when possible.  I’m thankful that those things are available.

Early January is rough for anniversaries.  January 7, 1978 my figure skating coach’s six kids were murdered by her then husband.  I was 14 years old, and it rocked me to the core. I can’t imagine how she has done.  I think about her often, and have always prayed that somehow she’s managed to have a life after that.  January 10, 1987, I was raped and ‘tortured’ (word the newspaper used- don’t want to sound overly dramatic on my own) for 6 hours when the uncle of a baby I took care of regularly lied his way into my apartment… he did things to me I’d never heard of, being very naive…and a virgin.  I’ve never let anybody get close to me since then.  I’d always thought I’d have a family of my own.  That day changed a lot- but I survived.  And I’m thankful for that.

In 1982, the semester that started in late January was a bad one.  I was in the midst of some serious eating disorder stuff, and the depression I only get when I’m starving and purging.  I ended up getting sent to a psych hospital (no eating disorder ‘treatment centers’ back then) for several months.  That was a bad year. I ended up attempting suicide the next semester when I returned to the university.  I was in a coma, and then shipped back to the psych hospital for many more months, once I woke up and was medically cleared.  Things weren’t done in a week to 10 days back then.  I spent about 8 months altogether at Forest Hospital (Des Plaines, IL) in 1982.  They were good to me; I did do better, but the eating disorders were on-again/off-again for decades.

This is the first winter since early 2010 (when I was diagnosed with acute promyelocytic leukemia) that I haven’t been on chemotherapy or waiting for the built up amounts of toxins to leave my body.  I’m still dealing with the weight gain and changes in my blood sugars and insulin doses, as chemo messed that all up.  The diabetes is getting better faster (great endocrinologist with a Joslin Diabetes Center affiliate here in town). I wasn’t on steroids long enough for that to be an issue- it’s ‘just’ the arsenic, tretinoin (ATRA), methotrexate, and M6Mercaptopurine.  They rearranged my chromosomes (literally…. they ‘re-translocated’ the arms of 15 and 17). I guess it will take some time to get my body back to ‘normal’.  I hate the weight.  I’ve had a long history of eating disorders, so can’t just do some crash diet and hope for the best- it could easily trigger a relapse that I just can’t afford.  But I’m going to turn 50 in late 2013; I don’t want to  look like this when I turn 50.  I didn’t want to look like this at all… but it was chemo or die.

And yet, I have a lot to be thankful for. I’m alive- that’s the big one; people with APL sometimes aren’t diagnosed until autopsy (and I know of 2 people just a few months ago who only had one and two days from the time they were told the diagnosis and the time they died; one was 11 years old).  I’ve survived being raped, and other stuff. And, with my health, I am glad to just have a day when I can get the basics done around here.  I’d like to be around people more, and am hoping to get to that Bible Study I’d mentioned in another post; last week (the first meeting of this topic- Ephesians) I wasn’t feeling well- that doesn’t mix well with indoor heat, even with my ice vest.  A childhood friend who I’ve reconnected with on FB came over one Saturday, and helped me with some generalized clutter (result of not being able to unpack after the last time I’d packed to move BACK to Texas), and is coming again- that has been a huge help.  I want to get this place puppy-proofed for the new puppy I hope to get this spring.  That helps, too.  I can’t imagine not having that hope for a new little companion to fill the dog-shaped hole in my heart.

2013 isn’t starting badly… just ‘complicated’ by past and present stuff mixing together.   There is still more good than bad.  I still have a lot of interests, and while I can’t physically do a lot, I do find things to keep me happy and make me laugh, especially online.  Blogging has been a great way to blow off steam, and some days that makes  a big difference.  🙂

I’m Grumpy Today

I’m not sure what my malfunction is, but I’m sorta grumpy.  I got up way earlier than usual (I’m one of those who is usually up half of the night and then sleeps until noon).  I’ve got a vague headache, but that’s nothing all that new. I have chronic headaches.  Christmas was really good- I got to see (and meet) family, and talked to my biological mom and half-brother on the phone, which is always good.  I got to spend time with family at the Swedish Christmas party since I’ve got the ice vest to wear when I leave home and don’t have as much chance of being overheated because of the dysautonomia. And yet, I’m a major dud this morning.

My 11.75 year old schnauzer with heart failure was so eager to eat some ‘meatloaf’ I made for her yesterday (with controlled sodium), and this morning she won’t touch it. I’m running out of options.  She started refusing the prescription dog food weeks ago, and prior to that had been eating a minimal amount (which wasn’t all that unusual for her- but she managed to keep her weight up). So now I’m trying to figure out other ideas… have been through ground beef/turkey/chicken, oatmeal, mashed potatoes, brown rice, white rice, baby food veggies, cooked carrots (gag), baby food applesauce and oatmeal,  and various combinations of the above.  She normally likes all of those things. Now, I’m lucky if she eats some of her Charlee Bear dog treats- they have minimal sodium, so she can still have them.  If she weren’t still alert and very interested in what is going on, as well as physically mobile and showing no signs of pain, I’d have her put to sleep…but I don’t want to ‘kill’ my best friend if she’s still getting some enjoyment out of life.  It’s a fine line right now, so as long as it’s not blatantly obvious, I’m holding out… but that time is coming.  There’s only so much I can do, and I think I’ve pretty much hit my limits. 😦

I’ve been extremely irritated at comments to news stories on various online sites and publications. So many people are so heartless and cruel.  Or pathologically immature and even psychopathic.  Responding that they’re ‘happy’ about an article where five people were made homeless by a fire that destroyed their home? How do people get that way?  Who dropped them on their head?  Or burned them?  And then there are the other ‘less’ disturbing posts that are just plain nasty and/or cruel.  Or ignorant.  I’m actually very thankful I don’t know those people or have to spend any IRL time with them.  A click of the back button takes them out of my life.

The onslaught of horrible stories that are on the news constantly is also a major bummer. I feel really badly for those folks and what they’re going through, but what good does it do anybody to have it dissected in the media for days to weeks on end?  I’ve been a crime survivor of a high profile case (before the 24/7 media, back in 1987).  It wasn’t helpful to see it on TV for days or see the newspaper coverage over and over.  The people who knew about it, and were my actual friends/family already knew what happened, and face it: most people really don’t want to know about real life horrors that happen to other people.  Or they don’t know what to do with the information, at least to the persons’ face. Behind their back, the chatter won’t stop. If people would have just asked me straight out what happened, or even if I wanted to talk about it would have been much  more helpful than days of media coverage  (without any input from me- I was an object).  I had one ‘different’ neighbor that responded to meeting me with “I never thought I’d meet you ! ”  Really?  Meeting someone who has been raped and beaten was a life goal?  Step away from the strange one !

I’m extremely disgusted with my weight, and have my food diary set up to start on January first. I don’t want to look like this on my 50th birthday next November.  I don’t want to be grotesque and repulsive going into the last third to half of my life. I have to restrict food. I’ve tried the ‘normal’ calorie amounts I’ve been given from the doctor and diabetic dietician, and that doesn’t work…so I’ve got to go lower. I can’t do much exercise because of the issue with passing out when my heart rate goes up or I get overheated, and my knees and spine issues.  So the calories have to go.  A slippery slope for me, so I’ve got to be careful- but I have to DO something beyond what I’ve been doing.  I didn’t look like this before chemo… and I want to lose any remnants of those days.

Losing weight will also save me some time before having to have my left knee replaced (I had the right one done in late 2006, and it was a very unpleasant experience with some complications and ‘dull’ response time by the doc and nurses to a bladder infection). I had to go to a rehab place for the medically defective. It was a good rehab facility- great care, but set up where people stayed in their rooms like a hospital between therapies (no common area), and since I was infective, I was in a private room- not a horrible thing, but friggin’ isolated. It’s not like there was a big risk of someone coming into contact with my pee.   My left knee has unrepaired, and questionably healed ACL and medial meniscus tears, done when I turned over in bed back in 2009- about a week before my closest friend from here in this town died suddenly (following several complications from a KNEE replacement). She’d moved to a different state to be closer to one of her daughters, but we were in contact by phone daily, even when she was in the hospital or rehab.  I was supposed to have the left knee replacement done, but then got leukemia and everything was put on hold to survive that.  Been a weird few years.

I’m frustrated that I don’t feel that people understand why I’m like I am.  I’ve got diagnoses that people haven’t heard of.  I ‘look’ like I’m capable of working, and I miss being a nurse SO much- but too much standing or walking, and the whole heat/heart rate thing = one unconscious middle-aged RN.  I’ve been an RN for nearly 28 years.  I’ve been on disability for 8 years.  But I still keep my license, because I still AM an RN.  I worked hard for that thing.  And I loved working with it…  And those days are done.  When people ask me what I’m doing to get back to work, it hurts- there isn’t anything that can be done by me or anyone else. Some things CAN’T BE FIXED !  SO those perky, blessed-to-be-clueless people need to shut up and go target someone who has some stuff going on that is treatable. I’ve been dealing with much of this since 1996- and worked until 2004- I held out as long as I could.  I fought to keep working.  QUIT asking me if I’m going back to work. NO, I can’t !

I was raised in an evangelical church, and am a born again Christian, without some of the judgmental drama that can go with those two things.  I hate the passive ‘I’ll pray for you’ stuff- prayer is wonderful, and I do it often, but if someone wants to help, some action would be really amazing ! Prayer is about as passive as a person can get and rationalize to themselves that they’re ‘doing’ something– and while I do believe in prayer and that it is a very positive and powerful thing (and pray for people on the news all of the time since I can’t do anything else), it’s not the be-all end-all answer to really being of use to someone.  It’s definitely better than nothing, but it really doesn’t show much in terms of actively supporting and helping someone. Sometimes it’s all people CAN do- and that’s appreciated.  But remember the ‘faith without works is dead’?  I’ve sensed a lot of dead.  I wish I could do more for others, and feel guilty about that.  Not like I know many people around here to be available for… back in the home where my heart is, I could be more useful, even if I’m not that physically ‘able’… I could drive someone to the store, or appointments.  I could water plants when they were gone, or change out cat litter. I couldn’t walk dogs or watch kids… but I’d do what I could.

I’ve contacted my ‘old’ church (from when I grew up and it was an amazingly positive experience) to find out about women’s Bible studies and other things in the past, and have been essentially blown off. I guess I’m not good enough for the ‘elite’ evangelicals anymore. My checkbook may not be deep enough or something.  I’ve tried again, and will hear back after the 31st when the contact person returns. I had really looked forward to going back there when I moved back from Texas.  I found it to be cold and a bit pretentious.  If someone can’t go back to the church they grew up in, where should they go?  Where is the ‘real’ message in that?   It hurt.  There were some really nice ladies (who I’ve known since I was a kid) who invited me to a type of ‘grief’ group, but I don’t want to sit and talk about dead family.  If that works for them, I’m really glad they have somewhere that feels right for their grieving process.  My mom is dead. Sitting in a room with folks who need that type of support doesn’t work for me.  I guess if I want to connect with anybody there, I have to be bummed out.  Not something I’m interested in.  I’m hoping the Bible study that starts on January 9th will work out- otherwise, I’m done trying to get back in to the church I grew up in. It shouldn’t be a ‘project’ just to find somewhere to fit in there.  The singles group wasn’t my bag – I want some ‘study’ group type thing.  🙂

Anyway, that’s a bit of what’s rattling through my head today.  I’m a little less grumpy now.

Hold On To Hope, Or Face Possibilities

I’m waiting, along with many others, for news about a dear woman who went into cardiac arrest last week, and is in a coma as a result.  The day they warmed her back up from the induced hypothermia (used to minimize oxygen demands on the brain while healing from CPR), her reflexes were present. The next day, she was following commands to squeeze her husband’s hand, and raise her elbow off of the bed.  That sounded good.  Daily reports were coming in, and while nothing else major was happening, there was a hopeful tone to the reports. Then Sunday, there was no word on her condition. Monday, there was information that she was struggling, and last night, the neurologist had done a test and met with the family early this morning.  When the time is right, information will be shared about what that was about.  As an RN, I can’t think of a lot of ‘good’ since there had been little  positive news for a few days.  I remember working on a neuro floor, and when the docs met with the families, there were major, and permanent decisions to be made. Occasionally, there would be some other treatment option, but not usually.

As I’ve been mulling all of this over for the past week, I’ve had so many emotions. Anybody who was a camper or on staff at Timber-lee Christian Center in East Troy, WI would have been directly or indirectly impacted by this woman. That’s tens of thousands of kids and staff members over the decades she has worked there.  Her talent for developing fun programs to get through entire summers, each one different, is indescribable.  She also has a great sense of humor, and is one of those people who just makes people feel good. Her piano playing ability is remarkable, and even more so, since her left arm is weak- but nobody would ever know that from what she can get a piano to do.  She has been an example of what Christian woman can aspire to. There isn’t an ounce of phoniness in her. She’s the real deal.

As an 8 year old, I first met her. She was in charge of the programming for that first year as a camper. Her talents brought stories from the Bible, and how to live as a Christian to life and made them applicable. I remembered her every year I was there as a camper (7 summers), and then when I was on summer staff, she was someone familiar when I was meeting MANY new people.  I wasn’t always the easiest to have around, but she was always kind and compassionate.

This last July, I got to sit down with her and her husband at a reunion at the camp. I hadn’t been back there for decades, and while it had always been my ‘safe haven’, I hadn’t seen anybody from there since the mid-80s. I’m so glad I had the chance to talk with her, and also to have reconnected on FaceBook several months earlier. She is someone who exudes life.  And now she’s in a coma, and is struggling.  That’s not her.  Oh, she’s had struggles- but she made them work for good.

And yet, I believe in a God who is omniscient.  He knows everything- and His will is perfect for His plan.  Not my plan, or her plan- but His plan.  I don’t know what that is, or why this all has happened.  Physiologically, I understand why her heart stopped and she needed CPR.  That isn’t hard to comprehend. But what is hard to understand is how her being in a coma, and so critically ill, is helpful to God’s plan.  I have to have faith.  I know that one day, I’ll be able to ask God directly, and know His reasoning. I do believe that.  And I have to have faith in the meantime. Sometimes that faith uses a lot of kleenex.  Sometimes that faith can’t see through the tears.  But it’s still faith.  It doesn’t waver, but it also rests inside a very real person with very real feelings.

So, now the battle is this (at least for me- and I don’t believe I’m alone in this)… do I hold out for hope and God performing a miracle? Or do I get myself ready to face the real possibility that she will end her work here on earth, and join those who have gone before her in Heaven?  I have to rely on my nursing knowledge to look at where she is- and ‘she’ isn’t lying in a bed on life support. That’s the logical angle.  That isn’t how she lives. She is a very vibrant and amazing woman. I believe God can use anybody in any state to speak to others, and yet being in a bed isn’t how she has lived.  When I saw her in July of this year- just 2 1/2 months ago- she was racing around the camp in a golf cart, tending to the visitors on the grounds. Smiling. Serving, encouraging, and active.

I can’t imagine what her husband is going through today after the meeting with the doctor.  He is also a ‘lifer’ on staff at Timber-lee.  He forges iron into custom ironworks and horseshoes. Yes, there are still blacksmiths!  Now, he’s faced with an incomprehensible set of circumstances and potential outcomes to sort through. But he seeks God’s will as well.  He seeks the glory of God, regardless of the loss or changes he may also face.

In the end, those of us who believe the doctrines and Biblical principles that are an integral part of Timber-lee know that we will all see each other again, no matter what happens here in this earthly life. We have that promise and confidence in what Jesus did on the cross. That makes no sense to someone who choses not to believe in Christianity as described in the Bible- and God gives everyone the free will to decide that. He doesn’t force eternity- or Himself- down anybody’s throat. For me, it’s a comfort -though I still feel the loss of people I care about in a very human way; those concepts are not mutually exclusive.  Christianity really isn’t about either/or… it’s about more and more.  I’ll get more time with my friend. I’ll get eternity with her. That doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t miss her until then.

I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know the private matters being discussed. I do know that the woman I know is vibrant, and unstoppable. Yet, now she’s suspended in time, in a very passive state. That’s not her.  I will still pray for healing. I will still pray for God’s will to be done (which might mean He takes her). But no matter what, I will never forget her impact decades ago, or even now as she triggers deeper thought about God, and why things happen the way they do… and in the end, she has once again strengthened my faith.

And those of us ‘watching’ can celebrate her life, no matter what.